Of Sons and Hospitals
by Tarafina
Summary: He was his father's pride and joy, his mother's baby boy, and his sister's hero. They would never be the same without him.


**Title**: Of Sons and Hospitals  
**Category**: Smallville  
**Genre**: Angst/Family/Drama  
**Pairing**: Chloe/Oliver  
**Rating**: PG  
**Prompt**: Picture by ellashy  
**Word Count**: 1,768  
**Summary**: _He was his father's pride and joy, his mother's baby boy, and his sister's hero. They would never be the same without him._

**_Of Sons and Hospitals_**

While the ringing phone broke his concentration from work, the smile that bloomed out of seeing her name on the call display fled almost immediately.

"_Ollie?_" the frantic note in her voice has his spine tightening painfully, his entire body tensing.

"What happened?" he asked, already shoving his CEO work away and standing from his desk, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.

"It's Connor," she breathed, her voice catching at the end.

His heart stopped, hands shaking as he yanked the sleeves up his arms and ran toward the elevator. "Where are you?"

"Hospital. I got a call from the school, he was rushed in, they haven't told me much. I… I don't know what to do!"

"Okay, okay…" He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and tried to find his inner-calm. "I'm on my way. Just… Stay strong."

She sniffled and he knew she was nodding. "'Kay."

They hung up and his _so-called _calm was gone. He punched the elevator wall, not caring that his fist dented the metal walling. His son, his seven year old son, was in the hospital, and he didn't know why… Heart hammering in his chest, palms sweating, his mind started going through all the many reasons he could be on his way to the hospital. When school had come into question, he and Chloe had argued over where there son would go. Private school offered a lot more security and while they wanted to raise their son as regularly as possible the truth was he was the heir to billions, so he couldn't always _be _considered normal. All the same, they didn't want him to have an unusual or sheltered childhood. In the end, they agreed to visit each school and make the decision based on what they thought was better for their son and not on what _could_ or_ might _happen.

The private school offered a great education but it wasn't very personable; it was too sterile for Chloe's liking. Their son was a happy little boy, cheerful and excited to run around and climb trees and play Green Arrow and League with his best friends, John Kent and Dean Curry. They couldn't imagine him in an encrusted suit with pressed pants and a name to uphold. They just wanted him to be safe and happy. So they went with the public school, even if he upped the security by adding round-the-clock guards to walk the perimeter and metal detectors at the front doors. Yes, it was an elementary school, but there were still sick people out there.

Now he wondered if he made the right decision.

With all the things that happened in their lives, the bad guys they fought, they justice they brought, it all added up to a dangerous lifestyle. Years ago, before they were married and just a couple of twenty-somethings out to change the world, they hadn't given much thought to what that might to do to their future children. Hell, in between archery lessons that led to indescribable sex on the Watchtower floor and learning to love again, they hadn't thought of _children _at all. But then five years had passed and they were walking down an aisle to their future; one where he couldn't imagine a lifetime spent with anybody else, couldn't see anybody else there by his side. And the marital bliss, honeymoon and copious amounts of lovemaking led to Connor; a bundle of screaming, pooping, joy. Oliver knew the moment Chloe said she was pregnant that he was always meant to be a dad; he was going to be to Connor what Robert Queen barely got to be to him. And three years later, Lauren was added to their family; a tiny blonde baby girl that he swore wrinkled her nose just like her mother. She was in pre-school now; probably sneaking orange slices when she should be napping, like she was prone to do.

The idea that their happily ever after might be ruined by the loss of their son; that his sarcastic little charmer could be lost… It broke his heart. At seven, Connor was a mischievous kid who did everything under his power to push the limits of life. He was a little bundle of energetic terror and his parents loved him for it. Even if he scared the living crap out of them with his acrobatics off of furniture or his desire to learn how to drive at such a young age; that Porsche would never be the same. He still loved to cuddle and when he got hurt, he went to his mom for a kiss – just one though, because he was a 'big boy.' He was smart and tenacious and he never failed to make people laugh. He was his father's pride and joy, his mother's baby boy, and his sister's hero. They would never be the same without him.

The drive to the hospital seemed to go by in a flash of red and green lights, honking horns and angry drivers. He was sure he broke a few laws and might've even outmaneuvered a bike-cop. He parked illegally and sideways and ran through the emergency doors of Star City General, eyes searching out a familiar face or anybody who could help. Finally, he went to the front desk, ignoring the other people waiting.

"Connor Queen," he bit out, his tone stating he needed answers and didn't want to be jerked around.

Maybe it was the look on his face or maybe it was just easier to get rid of him now, but the nurse didn't argue. She glanced at him and then back down at her paperwork. "Go straight, turn right three halls down and you'll see your wife…" She pursed her lips, glaring up at him. "If you'd ask her to stop interrogating my staff, it'd be appreciated."

He gave a short nod before following her directions, his feet nearly running down the hallways as he darted past patients and doctors alike. He came to a skidding halt as he spotted Chloe; she was pacing, hands wringing, and his stomach fell to his feet. She wasn't crying; that was a good sign. She wasn't curled up on the floor in the fetal position, so he assumed their son was still alive. He hurried to her; seeing her stricken expression he immediately felt his chest ache in response.

When she looked up and saw him, her relief was immediate. Her shoulders slumped and she was running, accepting his embrace and wrapping her arms tight around him. "H-He fell… Out of a _tree!_" She laughed slightly hysterically. "He hit his head, broke his arm, he…" She sniffled, hands gripping the back of his coat desperately.

A sigh escaped him; his eyes fell closed. Of all the things he imagined, this was tame. Still… "Is he awake?"

She shook her head. "He was unconscious when they found him and he hasn't woken up since…"

"He'll be okay," he assured her, but inside he wondered.

"You don't know that!" she argued angrily.

He squeezed her tight. "Chlo… How many times has he fallen off things?" he asked, stroking a hand down her hair, kneading her neck. "Remember when he wanted to be Superman and he jumped off the bookshelf?"

She laughed tearfully. "He missed that pile of pillows entirely! Six stitches to his forehead and you rounded off every corner on every table in the house…" She looked up at him; her chin perched on his chest. "Or when he tried to beat Dean at who could hold their breath under water the longest…" She shook her head, frowning. "He gets that stubborn streak from you! Imagine, trying to beat a boy who can _breathe underwater_…"

He snorted. "Trust me; he's extra stubborn because of _both _of his parents."

"You remember…?" She smiled. "The first time you taught him to shoot an arrow…"

He frowned, wincing. "And we started bringing up _my _visits to the hospital, _why?_"

She chuckled sweetly. "You couldn't sit for a week!"

He let a smile break through. "Last time I let one of the kids use my bow without safety gear on; head to toe." Reaching up, his fingers wiped lingering tear stains from her cheeks. "He's _ours_… He'll be fine."

And then he saw it; a lightness came over her, a trust that only _he _could instill in her, and vice versa. She believed him; took his words for truth.

Gathering her up, he wrapped his arm around her, hand cupping her opposite shoulder. Her head tucked against his chest, arms loose at his waist, she closed her eyes and with a nod, she just breathed. Cheek to her forehead, he stared at the floor, ignoring the ugly yellow and blue curtains that surrounded their son's bed or the squeaky-clean white hospital floor; preferring to think of what it would be like when this was all over, behind them. Soon, they would be home; their son would be resting in his green racecar bed, excited to have people sign his arm-cast and rolling his eyes at his mom's incessant kisses and hugs. He would tell his dad all about how high he got in the tree before his foot slipped and how he didn't like the jello at the hospital; it just didn't taste the same as mom's. And Oliver would tell him that was because his mom added whip-cream and all would be fine. Lauren would sneak in to see how hurt he was; she'd sign her name with a backwards "e" and draw a heart before she kissed his cast to make him feel better and Connor would boast that he didn't cry and it didn't hurt, making her even more in awe of him. He'd puff out his chest and know that he was her hero, even when she brought in her dolls to keep him company while he recuperated.

There was a rustle behind the curtain then; movement, a groan, and his heart skipped a beat. Reaching out, Oliver shoved the curtain out of the way and saw his drowsy son looking around, confused. "Wha' hap'n'd?" he muttered, reaching up to scrub his eyes, only to see his cast. His face lit up. "Cool! Mom! Dad! Look!"

Oliver laughed, shaking his head. A tear escaped; of happiness, relief. His chest bloomed warm, thankful; their family would stay in tact.

And as his wife hurried to their son, hugging him close and kissing all over his face while little Connor complained and groaned, Oliver just grinned.

Yeah, everything was going to be just fine.


End file.
